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This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandchildren (who exist), and my great-grandchildren (who don't) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.
This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and approximately 39.9% of all grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering.
Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader
Dear Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),
[What the hell are you on about now, old man?]
Older than many, younger than many, Dana. Old enough to appreciate the significance and importance of Benjamin Franklin's reply to Mrs. Powell's question.
[Who's Mrs. Powell and what was her question?]
Allegedly, Mrs. Powell was the woman who asked Franklin what the Constitutional Convention had cooked up. "Well, doctor, what have we got, a republic or a monarchy?"
To which he (allegedly) replied, "A republic, if you can keep it."
I use the word allegedly since the evidence of exactly what happened is thin and contradictory. However, it's what I was taught, and given the fact it should be true, as far as I'm concerned it's written in stone.
[With minimal respect, your garrulousness, what's this got to do with the Democratic debates?]
Twelve carefully coiffed and professionally made-up people standing on a stage and just itching for a chance to deploy one of their pocketful of carefully crafted, focus group tested sound bytes created by professional political guns for hire is not a debate...
It's just another (un)reality show.
[I see you're in search of setup, Sparky. I'll bite, what should we do?]
We don't. There's nothing to be done but enjoy the show and pray for divine intervention or whatever it is, that somehow, so far, has enabled the Republic to always come out smelling like a rose. Eventually. Once the smoke clears.
[Why are you so...]
The Founding Oppressive Patriarchs, not wanting a king, set up a system that included a relatively weak chief executive with a narrowly defined job description. Power is supposed to be wielded by the people's representatives, Congress.
Nowadays, as George Will has noted, Congress is more theatrical than actual.
Congress has an approval rating, as this is being written, of 18%. Historically speaking, they have a reelection rate of about 97%. If that doesn't call for a big fat WTF! (wow, that's freaky!) I don't know what does.
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The presidency has degenerated into a cult of personality contest. All tribes and sub-tribes fixate on a messiah while demonizing all the other would-be messiahs secure in the knowledge that if they can get their guy canonized, heaven on Earth will commence directly.
[Well, maybe, but...]
The frontrunner of the week, Fauxcahontas (lawyer, 70, net worth $12,000,000) is formerly (that's so, like, last week) famous for claiming to have a significant amount of Cherokee blood in her veins so as to benefit from a homemade affirmative action program.
She's now becoming famous for spouting fountains of bafflegab when asked how she plans on funding her well-planned utopia without heavily taxing the middle class. It's a numbers thing, there aren't nearly enough evil rich folks to pay the tab.
There's still no such thing as a free lunch. A well functioning social democracy requires heavy taxes on as many people as possible to pay for all the free programs. If my fellow Americans want to go down this path, let 'em knock themselves out.
However, tell us how much the easy monthly payment's going to be before we sign here and initial there, before we wind up with a political version of Bernie Madoff in the Whitehouse.
As for my favorite socialist, the other Bernie (78, net worth $2,500,000), given that he recently had a heart attack and has been a professional politician of minimal accomplishment for 99% of his adult life, Why hasn't he been voted off the island?
And leave us not forget Joe Biden friend of the working man born in hardscrabble Scranton, Pa (left when he was ten, lawyer, 76, net worth $9,000,000). Mr. Biden went to Washington. Mr. Biden should've had a more father-son conversations with his boy Hunter, who may have ruined dad's latest and likely last shot at the monarchy.
And how about...
It was at this point in my ruminations that I was struck stupid by a vision.
I saw an, angel? An avatar of some sort materializing at the first debate between the Donald and... I couldn't make her out.
A drop-dead gorgeous, Bisexual Woman Of Color (she experimented in college but now is a faithfull mom of three married to a plumber of pallor), a BWOC, who appeared standing behind a podium of solid gold.
This persona had been tested and been rated Inevitably Electable (IE) by Frank Luntz, Swampmeister. Wikipedia: "Luntz's current company, Luntz Global, LLC, specializes in message creation and image management for commercial and political clients."
The deliberately vaguely defined higher power (DVDHP) ain't dumb. It knows the current zeitgeist is one of all Showbiz all the time and is aware of the current importance of acronyms.
When the Secret Service rushed the stage they were repelled by an invisible barrier. A reporter (a plant hired by Luntz Global) shouted out, "Who are you, and where did you come from?!? She calmly replied that she's the embodiment of multiple statesmen that have appeared throughout history whenever America needed one.
"You can call me, Marie-Louise."
She said that she had been sent by the DVDHP to save us from ourselves since given the current state of the media, and the audience they pander to, a homegrown statesman is currently impossible.
Unable to control himself—having been temporarily taken possession of by the anti-DVDHP—an apparently biologically male member of the Righteous Resistance famous for his obnoxious personality leapt to his feet and demanded to know why she had used the words statesmen and statesman instead of statespersons and statesperson.
The IE-BWOC then pointed at the male member and a lightning bolt struck him in the chest. Fortunately, it was just a special effects lightning bolt, no more powerful than a Taser with depleted batteries. Just powerful enough to get everyone's attention.
The BWOC then said, "This is the sort of trivial, politically correct B.S. I'm here to put a stop to, honey. Anyone here have a real question?"
The Donald said, "Hey, Marie-Louise, sweetheart, how much for the podium, and what are you doing after the debate?"
Pandemonium ensued; I snapped out of it.
Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day
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